


So Let's Set The World On Fire

by sakesushimaki



Category: Queer as Folk (US), Queer as Folk (US) RPF
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakesushimaki/pseuds/sakesushimaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>To him, it has never been a game.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Let's Set The World On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Title(s) from Fun's _We Are Young_ , which has somehow not yet made it across the ocean into Europe’s charts. Crazy, I know.

**I. Give me a second, I need to get my story straight**

To him, it has never been a game. It has never been a joke, an experiment, a test, a fluke, a mood, or whatever else people seem to think about the whole thing.

This is his fucking life, goddamn it.

No, people haven’t exactly been helpful. Or maybe they have, who knows. He’s been plastered with so many labels, there can’t be an inch of skin left for himself. 

He’s been called absent, passive. The truth is, he’s fuelled by a passion so complete, he does everything to the fullest. When he loves, he’s pathetically devoted. When he suffers, he enters a dark place that would let most people reach for medication. When he watches an old movie, he shuts out everything around him. When he smokes a joint, he inhales until the sweet scent fills him completely. And when he’s absent or passive, he is so with conviction. 

Most people don’t know that about him. Most people don’t know how to label him. Most of them do, anyway.

Sometimes Gale thinks he’s too old for the fight.

 

**II. I know I gave it to you months ago, I know you’re trying to forget**

That kiss was not supposed to happen. But that kiss had a power of its own. It also has the tenacity to visit his dreams, still, months later. 

They agreed right after to blame it on that beer or two too many and both their lack of off-screen action. Randy’s laugh didn’t feel right in Gale’s ears as he watched him get into the cab that night and something in his chest hurts whenever he thinks of it.

His therapist thinks he is mildly depressed and keeps prescribing whatever drug brand her newest stationery has printed on it. By now he only goes to see her for his private entertainment. She is actually hilarious, when you view it from the right angle.

His last session with her, yesterday, was not much different than the ones before. But for some reason, when he shared his latest variation of his obsessed dreams, she took a different turn.

“So, have you done anything about this?”

“What do you mean?” he wondered. The pattern of her wallpaper looked odd today.

“Action generates _re_ action, you know.”

Gale wanted to laugh in her face. He bit his lip instead. “But what if…”

“Maybe that’s what you need to do: cross off a couple of _what-ifs_.”

Gale isn’t sure she actually helped that day, but he also knows that for the first time since he started seeing her, he forgot to search her wall diploma for traces of counterfeit.

 

**III. Tonight, we are young**

Gale decides that he’s too old for an identity crisis. He’s also too fucking young for the midlife equivalent. 

He’s been watching Randy from across the room all evening. For some reason, in the past weeks, it seemed important to keep his distance.

Tonight, he can’t stand it. 

When he drains his beer with finality and goes over there, he knows he’s going in for the kill. He grabs the hand that has always felt just a little bit too good in his, drags him out of the room and around two corners. Where the light flickers against dirty red paint, he presses Randy against the wall. 

Gale wants to kill. He wants destruction. He wants redemption.

Randy’s hands are clumsy as they fumble against his chest. “Gale.” He tries to laugh, tries to shove him away.

Gale doesn’t budge, not this time. He knows that Randy’s trying to blame it on tipsiness, on the moment, on whatever they always blame it. But tonight, Gale wants none of that. He knows that Randy had exactly one spritzer, a Red Bull and a Coke. He also had approximately twenty pretzels but that’s irrelevant.

Randy’s still squirming a little between the wall and Gale’s body, still not ready to face the reality of it.

Gale closes his eyes, lets Randy’s scent comfort him, and presses even closer. “Randy,” he whispers, wet and hot against his ear. “Stop.”

Randy stops.

The clicks of the zipper seem strangely loud, even against the wall’s pulsing with the music from the other side. Gale is grateful for the steady rhythm. He presses his palm harder against the sweaty red wall besides Randy’s head. The other hand is pulling at one lapel of Randy’s jeans. 

His fingers are itching with need. Randy’s quick breath against his neck feels like a promise, like a risk worth taking.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” he says. He means it. “Tell me you don’t want me.” He still can’t look at him, can’t pull back. He presses his hips harder against Randy’s side. “Tell me now.”

Randy doesn’t tell him that. Instead, he inhales, hisses, and says, “You’re asking me to lie, Gale.” 

Gale feels tentative fingers move into his hair. He bites his lip with how spectacular the touch feels, how deliciously the shudder burns. 

“Do you _want_ me to lie?”

Gale shakes his head. There’s limited space between Randy’s cheek and the wall to do so, but he thinks it comes across. “No,” he adds, just to be sure.

And then his fingers are moving down along twitching skin, reaching beneath fabric and elastic and running through soft hair. He takes a deep breath, thinks Randy does the same, and reaches farther down. He’s panting against Randy’s jaw when his fingers curl slowly. He sighs and relishes in the fresh knowledge that reality _can_ feel fucking perfect.

Changing course with 33 might not be the worst idea he ever had.

 

**IV. The world is on my side, I have no reason to run**

Between the warm feeling in his gut and the lovely tingle in other parts of his body, Gale thinks he doesn’t want to wake up completely.

He can still taste Randy’s mouth, he can still smell his neck, and he can still feel the smooth skin of Randy’s dick against his palm, his thigh, his cheek. He remembers how he wanted to drink him. He remembers how he was too slow in asking for it and was drunk instead. His cock twitches at the memory. Randy’s lips against his dick might have been the best goddamn feeling in the whole world, alongside everything else that happened last night.

He wasn’t sure before, but now Gale has no doubt that Randy fits perfectly into his lifestyle. Randy is passion. He is pleasure. He might be love. And Gale doesn’t do anything halfway.

Randy wakes up too soon. Gale doesn’t like how the relaxed and pliable feel of Randy’s body gives way to a stiffness in his limbs and to concern in his eyes. 

He moves to make some space and for a while, they just stare at each other from their respective ends of the pillow. 

Randy is the first to speak. “Should we…?”

_Talk_ , Gale knows but he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk yet. He doesn’t want to think about practicality and demographic categories. He’ll have to deal with that soon enough. 

He rolls on top of Randy and kisses his way from one shoulder to the other. “Can I be inside you again?”

Randy closes his eyes, smiles, and nods. He insists on little preparation and soon, Gale slips inside him once more. 

Gale thinks he might already be addicted to feeling Randy around him; to feeling his ass pulse on his dick, to pressing his whole body against Randy’s like he belongs to him.

For now, he just wants to have _this_. 

For now, the world is enough.


End file.
